From the Sidelines

“So what do you think of Chávez?” I cease to count the number of Venezuelans who ask me this question, one that provokes most Venezuelans to either venerate or curse their controversial president. Neither sheepish nor self-censored in his conduct, Hugo Chávez and his United Socialist Party of Venezuela (PSUV) run a political machine that has decimated the power of the fractured opposition, allowing Chávez to garner power. His efforts continue as he calls the country to vote on a constitutional amendment that, if passed, would end presidential term limits. Political views are extremely polarized in this country, manifested by an omnipresent politicized culture that is electrified and sometimes volatile. This culture, which I see every day in one form or another, gets closer and closer to the breaking point in light of the upcoming vote.

Campaigners set up posts throughout every neighborhood of Cumaná. At these sites, groups of red-clad PSUV party members promote the president’s constitutional amendment in preparation for the vote on February 15th. The amendment would allow President Chávez – as well as governors, mayors and senators – to run for the same elected office without term limits. The current two term limit requires Chávez to end his presidency in 2012, though this amendment would allow him to run for a third presidential term. His campaign’s force upon the senses cannot be overstated. The masses of his supporters wear red shirts that state: “Chávez Sí,” “¡Uh! ¡Ah! Chávez con el Pueblo Sí Va,” to name a few. One also encounters shirts bearing the images of Chávez, Che Guevara, and the ubiquitous star of the PSUV. And behind every large group of supporters lies a pickup truck with large speakers. At full volumen, campaigners play salsa, joropo and samba music commissioned by the president. This bizarrely political tropical music extols the virtues of “el comandante Chávez” and socialism, arguing that the president must stay.

Of course, no political campaign would be complete without sufficient literature, and one can find plenty. For example, a member of the local port workers´ union handed me a pamphlet to promote the amendment. It posits that the amendment would “strengthen and consolidate the internal unity of the Bolivarian forces for the leader of the Revolution, being a forceful message against the enemies of the patria inside and outside of Venezuela." In the case that the amendment were to fail, the pamphlet continues, “Varied forms of political retaliation and vengeance against the people would be committed by the oligarchs. Their truly fascist essences remain withdrawn as they wait their moment,” The rhetorical tone of chavista (pro-Chávez) supporters is noteworthy; they take advantage of the polarized political scenario and impart a pressing sense of urgency.

While the campaigners don their red shirts, disperse their pamphlets and play music encoded with subliminal socialistic messages, a less coordinated and more subtle manifestation of discontent pops up in many places.

At the university’s Department of Modern Languages, most English professors with whom I work readily denounce Chávez, blaming nearly all of Venezuela´s domestic problems (e.g., rising delinquency, inflation, unemployment, etc.) on their president. For example, one co-worker sends her friends text messages that joke about the president. Others lament that it is difficult to find a job unless one has PSUV membership. Suffice it to say, red is a color rarely found within the offices of the Department of Modern Languages.

While waiting for the bus last Tuesday, I overheard an elderly man as he harangued his wife about the government: “Este país está arrecho,” essentially meaning fouled up beyond all recognition. He continued to argue that the country cannot function with so many days off, referring to the previous Monday and Tuesday that Chávez declared a national holiday. The president intended to commemorate the ten-year anniversary of his “revolutionary” government but declared the holiday less than forty-eight hours before on Saturday evening. The gentleman added that Venezuela will probably shut down for a whole week if Chavéz wins his constitutional amendment.

However, those who oppose the current government fail to muster any cohesive voice against the petroleum-dollar spending political machine of Chávez. In downtown Cumaná, the only opposition slogan found painted on the walls is “No is No.” I noticed this painted on a few walls compared to the thousands of murals and posters that promote the amendment.

The abundant posters, chants, songs, reproachful comments, graffiti and t-shirts make me dizzy at times. I felt this effect last Tuesday having heard the man at the bus stop and then passing by hoards of chavistas on the street during the bus ride. After hoping off the bus in the historic downtown, I strolled past the remains of the old capital building (see picture above), once the office of the Sucre State governor. A group of students firebombed the building years ago during protests. Ironically, the remaining façade and the vegetation within the ruins present a numbing yet eloquent image; it is a stark local symbol of political clashes at their worst. I recalled the question: “So what do you think of Chávez?” “Neutral,” I tell myself. It is best to stand on the sidelines when confronted by Venezuelan politics.

Impact of Falling Oil Prices in Venezuela

Check out this New York Times article. It addresses the impact of falling oil prices on the political and social agenda of the Hugo Chávez government (Read it!).

Venezuela on a Plate

I say gracias a Dios every time that Richard, my Venezuelan housemate, invites me to try the food that he prepares. Reticent yet good humored, Richard studies math at the university where I work in Cumaná, but he was born and raised in a small rural town a three hours away called Río Caribe. The best word to describe him in Yiddish would be a male baleboosteh: an excellent and praiseworthy homemaker.* Though Richard has yet to make cholent or kasha and varnishkes,** his culinary interpretations of traditional Venezuelan fare are never less than superb. Richard told me a few weeks ago that he would teach me to make arroz con pollo (chicken and rice) under the condition that I buy the chicken. Who would ever kvetch‡ at the proposition of a cooking class that were to cost only a chicken? Giving up a golden opportunity such as this would be a real shandeh†; I accepted.

Common logic, for better or worse, dictated that we would have to go to a market in order to buy a chicken. Accordingly, off we went to the Express Mall supermarket the previous evening. Before we checked out at the cash register, I decided to go on an extended tour of the supermarket in order to browse and ascertain the scarce food items of the week. There is never an extreme shortage of food at the supermarket, yet there are always a few food items in scarcity. I do not yet fully understand the specific economic mechanisms that influence this occurrence – further investigation is required. For example, a few basic items like sugar fail to appear on store shelves for weeks at a time; stocks of some luxuries like ice cream are often nearly depleted; and, most paradoxically, ground coffee recently disappeared from supermarkets after its price doubled, which is most surprising given the flourishing presence of local coffee production within hours of Cumaná. Regardless, most items in stores are regularly available, including the necessary staples to make arroz con pollo. Richard and I came home that evening with every ingredient.

Richard and I began to cook around noon the next day. As we went through the different steps, I jotted down the recipe, which can be found at the end of this entry. No major mishaps occurred fortunately. The pot of chicken and rice did not explode nor fall down on the ground. Neither of us burned anything.

Our two friends Mery and Albelk stopped by to join our feast, and we began to eat shortly after Albelk prepared fresh squeezed orange and parchita fruit juice. We served the arroz con pollo onto each individual plate, completing each with a garnish of fried plantain. The table was set. Appreciative of the rich plates of food in front of us, we duly exchanged the Spanish phrase buen provecho, meaning “bon appetite,” and the lull in the conversation thereafter indicated the success of the food. I noticed that I was consuming my meal slower than my friends while I struggled to separate the chicken from the bone. Mery soon caught onto my difficulties and stated directly that Venezuelans eat chicken with their hands. Constructive criticism during a meal never hurts when it eases the eating process and harmonizes the etiquette of all at the table. Nervous yet determined, I picked up the chicken with my bare hands and truly joined in on the feast. Not a single morsel was left on my plate soon after.

Click to see the rest of my photos from the cooking lesson.

Recipe: Richard´s Arroz con Pollo

Ingredients:

3 cups of rice
4.5 cups of water
1 chicken breast or 5 thighs
Adobo spice (powder mix)
10 cloves of garlic, mashed
Rum, preferably Venezuelan (optional)
Hot sauce
3 medium-sized tomatoes
1 large onion
1/2 green pepper
Vegetable oil
Salt
One large ripe plantain

1. Remove the skin and fat from the chicken with a sturdy knife, breaking it into small chunks. Leave the meat on the bones, and place into a large pot.
2. Sprinkle the adobo spice liberally onto all the pieces of chicken.
3. Place mashed garlic into the pot along with a few splashes of hot sauce. Add a few splashes of rum.
4. Dice the tomatoes, onion, and pepper into very small chunks. In a frying pan, heat the vegetable oil and sauté the vegetables until well cooked and slightly browned. This is called aliño.
5. Place the pot of chicken pieces onto the stove, turn onto high heat, and add the aliño to the chicken. Cover the pot and cook 15-20 minutes or until the chicken is cooked.
6. Add the rice and water to the pot of chicken. Add salt to the water to taste. Bring water to boil, cover pot, and reduce stove to low heat. Cook for 20 minutes.
7. As the rice cooks, prepare the fried plantains separately. Slice plantains into 1/4-inch thick slabs. In a pan, fry the plantains in hot vegetable oil until tender and medium browned. Remove from the pan and allow to cool.
8. Serve the rice and chicken in a large plate. Garnish with fried plantains on top.

*Note: according to Leo Rosten´s The Joys of Yiddish, the male equivalent of baleboosteh would be baleboss, meaning “the head of the household; the man of the house.” Yet in practice, the latter of the two fails to encapsulate the ability to cook phenomenally, so I choose baleboosteh at the risk of violating the Yiddish gender dichotomy
** Two delicacies that every ashkenazic Jewish grandmother should know how to prepare (Yiddish)
‡ Complain (Yiddish)
† Shame (Yiddish)

Two Beaches Side by Side

My plane arrived in Santiago from Caracas at about 11:00 pm. Finally, I had returned to Chile since my studies in Concepcion and Santiago three years ago. My year studying abroad in Chile had a big impact on me, yet many other experiences had occurred since then: graduation from college, a few short jobs and internships, a seven month period living in Mexico, among others. Most recently, I have adjusted to the culture and, to a lesser extent, the tropical climate of Venezuela. Though they are both South American countries, the difference between Venezuela and Chile is like night and day. And though Chile always occupied a special place in my heart, I felt nervous before my arrival as many questions simmered in my head: Were my memories and love for Chile embellished and dated? Would Chile sweep me off my feet the way that it did once upon a time? How do Chile and Venezuela compare with one another side by side?

To answer these questions, I have to take you to two beaches: Mochima in Venezuela, and Llico in Chile. The first might be confused for a steamy version of paradise upon first glance. If you look at your feet, which are probably bare, you see fine white granules of sand, free of garbage, seaweed, and other types of detritus. Looking down further, a soft breeze tosses the crystalline water into gentle waves; a handful of ostentatious yachts rest not far from the hot sand. Mochima is a protected national park near my current residence in Cumaná, Venezuela. On occasions such as this, life feels good, and I cannot kvetch. I am lucky to have the company of my Venezuelan friends Eliana, Roamir, Pablo, and Rachel, another North American English teacher. Of course, we are not alone: other beach-going Venezuelans pack the shore too. Given the hot weather, everyone tends to minimize the amount of clothing worn. For better or worse, the women with bikinis have their speedo-sporting male counterparts as well. "To each his own," I think. The beach in Venezuela typically is no place for modesty.

One can observe this effusive air by the anthropogenic sounds too. In addition to the soft breeze, the Latin beats of salsa, merengue, and reggaeton are as loud and inescapable at the beach as they are in the streets of downtown Cumaná. Moreover, my friends (mainly the male ones) constantly joke in a raucous manner without a concern for the volume of their voices. And why should anyone worry? There is no reason to hush one’s voice when children and adults alike scream as they play in the warm Caribbean water.

The second beach has a very different feel as I look down at my feet, closed toed shoes still on, and see that the sand is darker and less fine. Though it is on the same continent of South America as Mochima, one sees, feels and hears stark differences in the fishermen’s cove of Llico in southern Chile where I stand with my two good friends Lucho and Cristian Díaz*. Upon looking at the expanse of beach, I see a mosaic composed of seaweed, broken shells, black speckled sand and wind-swept bluffs. Wind is the operative word in this land because it is strong and inescapable, complemented by the crash of the waves. The large trees brave the wind’s force, yet there is certainly no Caribbean palm tree in sight, nor do the locals slurp down piña coladas to wash down their empanadas. Regardless, plenty of Chilean families enjoy the beach’s rugged beauty, though it is not as packed as its aforementioned Venezuelan counterpart. Locals test their nerves in the frigid water of the Pacific Ocean, yet taking a dip is less tempting for me, especially as I think about the tropical waters of Mochima. I am more than content admiring the scenery.

And certain acoustic qualities of the beach in Llico are apparent in every corner of the country. True to its Latin American identity, the streets in the Chile have the ongoing serenade of reggaeton and other Latin American pop music. However, the music is rarely heard at ear-drum bursting volumes that assault all who trot the streets of Venezuela. I have also noticed that people tend to speak at a slightly hushed volume in Chile, and the jokes told by Chileans come off as more tame and lack the double meaning that is characteristic of the Venezuelan sense of humor. Regardless, I have a wonderful time with Lucho and Cristian, who –like my Venezuelan friends Eliana, Roamir and Pablo – provide great company, local knowledge and their own well-rounded sense of humor. Based on such observations, Chile begins to feel as sincere as much as it is conservative, measured, and subtle in its style.

The juxtaposition of this tamed temperament and the coastal landscape creates a timeless allure in this country. In other words, one encounters warm and inviting people who are willing to share everything in the face of impressive yet less-than-paradisal landscapes. Neither better nor worse than the offerings of Venezuela, it is simply different. Llico absorbs me completely before long, tempting me to stare along the whole coastline as the wind jostles my hair. I cannot get enough of it.

*Lucho and Cristian are both from the fishing town Lebu, which is about an hour and a half from Llico. The pictures from Chile in this post were taken in Lebu.

Chutzpa and a Venezuelan Bakery

In Leo Rosten´s lexicographic classic The Joys of Yiddish, the reader can find ample synonyms for the word chutzpa: “gall, brazen nerve, effrontery, incredible ‘guts’,” all of which come from the ancestral Hebrew word for audacity (92-93). I find myself encountering a special type of chutzpa on a frequent basis in Venezuela, and it exists in the form of blunt honesty blended with an affinity to joke about people playfully and constantly. In Spanish, Venezuelans refer to this ubiquitous practice as echar broma, often involving a healthy dose of double entendre. I take you to the local bakery near my apartment in Cumaná to illustrate this.

One day late in the afternoon, I walked into the local bakery. The clerks at the display case were busy as usual while they served the steady flow of customers. “Here comes Harry Potter” I heard one clerk whisper to the other as I approached; nearly everyone in the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela has told me that I look like Harry Potter. Fighting my way towards the front, as is the standard, I gave my usual “hola, buenas tardes” to the young female clerk who was about to take my order. The clerks had already begun to make fun of me regularly, having been a customer for about a month and a half. This usually had involved exaggerated impersonations of my thick foreign accent. Yet today the practice of echar broma strayed from the limited realm of pronunciation, and the young woman took a different approach.

“Do you like to drink tomato juice,” the clerk asked me.
I responded sheepishly, “No, I do not like tomato juice.” I was a little surprised too.
“You don’t like tomato juice!?”
“No I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“Are you telling me that you never drink tomato juice!?!” she continued.
“He doesn’t like tomato juice,” chimed in a nearby clerk.
I began to feel more nervous, and everyone in line seemed to notice the banter taking place. My body temperature began to rise; someone had turned up the thermostat in eastern Venezuela. “Why do you want to know whether or not I like to drink tomato juice?” I asked vexingly.
“Because you look like a tomato!” she cried out, referring to my rosy complexion aggravated by the tropical climate and embarrassment. The other clerks and a few customers let out a series giggles as I stood at the front of the line speechless.

This chutzpa characterizes the art of echar broma, and I learn everyday that it is something to be embraced and reciprocated.

For this reason, Venezuelans fearlessly make their jokes in a back and forth fashion, pushing the stakes higher and higher. I would call many of their jokes border line harsh by the standards of the United States. In a similar fashion, most nicknames clearly point out a person’s physical imperfections. However, these jokes always end in reassuring and reciprocating grins no matter the degree of audacity employed in the joke.

So, the next day I figured that the clerks working the counter would have no problem with a photo shoot for my blog. I showed up at the bakery around closing time when customer traffic was minimal and explained to the clerks my reasons for taking a few pictures. They did not understand the concept of a blog during my spiel, yet they quickly revealed excitement after I asked permission to take some pictures. Suffice it to say, the photo shoot was successful.

Sometimes the Venezuelan style of echar broma can come off too boldly, especially since we tend to take jokes on physical appearance quite personally in the United States. Yet as I become more accustomed to these tendencies of Venezuelan culture, I realize that it is a two-way street requiring a proper exchange of quips. Accordingly, I try my best to joke back and with success; my grin seems to be wider and wider each time I leave the bakery.


Work Cited
Rosten, Leo. The Joys of Yiddish. New York: Pocket Books, 1973.

La Rumba de Una Boda Venezolana

My good friends Eliana and Roamir invited me to their wedding last weekend, giving me a genuine and incredible taste of a gigantic fiesta venezolana. Venezuelans commonly refer to a party as una rumba, and a wedding is probably one of the best examples. Think Jewish Bar Mitzva party meets Caribbean wedding, and Johnny Walker Whiskey substitutes the Manischewitz wine. After the church ceremony, the highlight of the evening was the infamous "hora loca" (crazy hour). This occurrence resembles carnaval more than anything else as masks, whistles and colorful hats were dispersed to the tunes of merengue, salsa, samba and tambor music. The rumba began to settle down by 3:30 am having begun around 10:00 pm. Take a look for yourself to get an idea of what it was like. You can see my album here. Though not a single champagne glass was broken during the evening, I offer a hearty mazel tov to Eliana and Roamir.